


The Ghost of You.

by falloutmoose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3314057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falloutmoose/pseuds/falloutmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sammy's world is turned upside down when her husband is KIA. Can anyone save her from the brink of darkness and despair?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghost of You.

The airport was busy. Families gathering around the departure gates, business men and woman all talking on their Bluetooth devices, chatting about stocks and presentations. Sammy didn’t care for any of that particularly. She cared about one thing. Michael. Or, as he’s known. Lieutenant General Cohen. Michael has served the country for 13 years. 8 of which he had been in a romantic relationship with Sammy. Being an army wife was a tough gig, but she loved Michael with all her heart. The army made him happy, therefore, she was happy. 

“Do you have your passport?” Sammy questioned, playing with the lapel on his jacket and smoothing it down. “Did you remember to get all your injections too?”  
“Yes to both, Sammy. Stop worrying, please. You’ll stress yourself out.” Michael returned.  
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” She tiptoed to kiss him one final time as his flight was called.   
“I love you, Samantha.”  
“I love you too, Lieutenant.” She smiled, her cheeks dimpling slightly. He matched her smile as he picked up his back. No more words were exchanged. Silent goodbyes had become something of a tradition. Sammy saluted him as he looked back a final time before disappearing through the gates. She turned and headed out of the airport quickly, making it to her car in record time. As the airport drifted out of view in her mirror for the last time in the next four years, Sammy sighed. “You can do it.” She muttered as anxiety rose. The thought of being alone terrified her. 

A year slowly went by, Sammy continued on as usual. Working her nine to five job at Wendy’s during the weekdays and at her late father’s auto repair shop at the weekends. She was a hard worker and with Michael gone, working was something she used to keep herself busy. She didn’t have many friends, as it was her choice not too, socialising wasn’t something she enjoyed and if she was completely honest, she preferred reading a good book or listening to music, the party scene not being her particular choice in entertainment. I guess she could be considered a loner, even though being alone made her anxious. She kept herself to herself, mainly to avoid confrontation. Regardless of her husbands life choices, she hated conflict. 

One year drifted into two years. Weekly e-mails had been exchanged between the couple since Michael left. Sammy would often send him photos of the cars she’d fixed up, the ones she was proud of, of course, and she’d attach photo’s of herself, nothing racy for erotic, just normal photos and Michael would return the favour. It was their unsaid way of saying “I’m okay.” 

It was the third year of Michael’s tour. A sunny, Saturday afternoon in July, to be exact. Sammy had a rare day off and was spending it snuggled up on the couch, a cup of herbal tea in her hands, her eyes glued to some talk show on the TV. She was bought from her trance by the soft thump of the post hitting the front door mat. After setting her tea down on the table she went to retrieve the mail.   
Amongst the regular junk mail and a few bills, a brown envelope caught her eye. She turned it over, noticing that it was sealed with a small wax stamp with WO engraved in the red mark.   
Frowning, Sammy walked back into the living room, opening the envelope, the other being long forgotten about. Her heart skipped a beat as she started reading. 

“Dear Mrs. Cohen,  
It is with a deep regret that I have learned of the untimely death of your husband, Lieutenant General Michael Cohen, which occurred on the 23rd of April 2003.   
It is to my understanding that LT Cohen worked hard to protect his country and fellow soldiers and in doing so has been awarded a bravery medal, which will reach you within a few days. 

I hope your grief will be alleviated to some extent with the knowledge that your husband gave the best in his line of duty. I offer my heartfelt sympathy to you and any other family members affected by this news. 

Yours sincerely, 

General. Smith.   
U.S Army “

Sammy’s hand shook, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. The letter fell to the floor and she collapsed back onto the sofa, breaking down into hysterical sobbing.   
One week later, Sammy was standing beside an open grave. Just inside it, not yet lowered to the soil, was a jade green coffin. Laid neatly on that was an American flag and one single rose. Around her stood Michael’s mother, his sister and her one single friend, Chloe. Sammy stood, numbed by the weather which was eerily cold and wintry feeling for a July afternoon, and silently crying, her eyes fixated on the coffin as it was lowered into the ground. The priest’s words were a distant sound to her ears. 

Immediately after the funeral, Sammy forced herself back to work and in-between working, looked for a new place to live. The memories in the house were unbearable. Soon enough, Sammy found herself a small flat on the outskirts of town. It was closer to the auto repair shop but further away from Wendy’s, which made her decision to leave her job as a waitress all the more easier and she eventually took up work full time as a mechanic, but it was still overwhelming. The workload was too much for one person and she would soon be forced to hire extra help. 

Weeks turned into months and Sammy had worked non-stop. However, she did hire a new mechanic. Dean Winchester. He was helpful, friendly and he knew an awful lot about repairing cars. At first, Sammy avoided contact with him as much as she could. Sometimes only saying a few words a week to the man. She’d go to work, then come home, make dinner then fall into a sleep fuelled by bourbon and exhaustion. 

Dean never questioned her brevity. He just stuck to his orders and helped out around the shop and fixing up his Impala when they had no work on. He thought she was just a very closed of person. Keeping her personal life to herself, and so on. He had no idea Sammy was heartbroken, falling apart and on the edge. That was until Sammy never showed up for work one morning. It was completely uncharacteristic of Sammy to not be in the repair shop at 9am sharp. Dean opened the shop, took in a few customers and began work after sending Sammy a text.

Hours passed and Sammy still hadn’t made it to the shop. Dean began to get worried so at lunch he made the decision to close shop and visit her flat. Her home address was written down for him, in case of emergencies, of course, and he figure checking up on her wouldn’t harm anyone. 

After knocking on the door several times and not getting an answer, Dean’s worry became worse. He slipped his credit card between the door and doorframe, expertly jimmying the lock open and he slowly walked in. 

“Sammy? You home?” He called, but no answer was heard. He stopped and looked around, listening carefully. He heard the faint sound of people talking coming from what he assumed to be the bedroom. So he went to investigate. After knocking once on the door he walked into the room. It was dark, the curtains drawn tightly, the only light was from the flickering TV which lit up the sillohette of Sammy on the bed. Laying down. Still. Lifeless. Dean panicked and rushed over to her. 

“Sammy? Sammy wake up.” He spoke, rolling her over. Vomit was pooled beside her body, her lips were blue and when Dean checked, she was barely breathing. Immediately he phoned for an ambulance and while waiting for it to arrive, got Sammy into the recovery position and tried to bring her back to consciousness. 

At the hospital, Sammy was admitted into intensive care and checked over. Dean stayed in the waiting room, hoping for the best news, which came hours later. 

“Sammy has regained consciousness. We took bloods and ran tests.” The doctor explained.   
“What’s wrong with her?” Dean questioned.   
“She overdosed. On what, we don’t know, but we’ve pumped her stomach free of most of the drug. Did you notice anything in the room? Empty pill bottles, syringes?”  
“No.” Dean sighed. “I mean..I didn’t really look. I was more focused on Sammy.”  
“That’s understandable, Mr. Winchester. Is there anything you can tell us that might help here?”  
“No..I don’t really know her that well. I work with her but she keeps her personal life persona, you know?”  
“Fair enough. Thank you for your help.”  
“Can I..can I see her?” He asked, hopeful.   
“Of course. She’s still drowsy and a little out of it, but it might comfort her to know someone is here for her.”

Dean nodded and followed the doctor into Sammy’s hospital room. She was wired up to a heart monitor, her head resting against pillows. Dean smiled softly. 

“Hey Sammy” He spoke, keeping his voice quiet. She looked over tiredly, following Dean with her eyes as he took a seat beside her.  
“Dean..” Sammy’s voice was hoarse. Almost unrecognisable. Dean smiled at her. “..Stay.” She whispered, taking his hand.

Weeks went by, Sammy was out of hospital but under the care of a therapist. In that time, she hand grew close to Dean. Even opened up to him. She told him of how Michael had died. Killed protecting America and how the grief got to her so much she tried taking her own life. She had even gone as far as asking Dean to drive her too and from work as she couldn’t drive on the medication the therapist was forcing her to take. Eventually, they became close friends. 

Close friends became best friends, best friends became lovers and soon, lovers became husband and wife. This spanned out over the next 4 years and their wedding was in the winter of 2007. 

It was now 2015. Sammy and Dean now had a child together, after 3 years of not being able to conceive, they had a beautiful daughter together, who they named Skye. Dean still ran the auto repair shop, but Sammy had become a fulltime mother, caring for their young daughter while Dean worked. 

One afternoon, Sammy had just put Skye down for the night. Dean had called, saying he’d be late home, because he wanted to finish work on a high paying customers car. So Sammy set about making herself some dinner and sat down to eat. Her meal was soon interrupted but a light knock on the door. Upon opening it, her face paled. 

“M-Michael?” She stuttered, blinking in disbelief.   
“Samantha..” He began. “My sweet beautiful Samantha..”

Sammy stepped aside, allowing Michael to enter the house. A house she now shared with her family. 

“I don’t know where to begin.” He admitted, staying standing as they reached the lounge. Sammy stayed quiet, looking at him for the longest moment before finally letting words fall from her lips.   
“You died..you died and we buried your body.” She shook physically, her stomach churning at the memory of the funeral. “It’s been 15 years..”  
“The coffin was empty. They’d gotten it wrong. I didn’t die.”  
“Then what the fuck happened?” Sammy raised her voice, suddenly angry that she was lied too.   
“I was captured by terrorists. I was on a mission, alone. Gathering intel on suspected terrorist attacks. They blind sided me and held me hostage for three years..” He trailed off, his face twisting in pain.  
“That doesn’t account for the next twelve years..” She sighed.   
“When I was freed, I was admitted to a mental institution. PTSD. And I was there for a few months.”  
“What about the rest of the time you’ve been away?”  
“I stayed away. It had been almost four years Sammy, I figured you‘d have moved on. I was right too..” He gestured to Sammy’s wedding ring, sparkling in the light. Sammy looked at her hand and raised it, slapping Michael hard across the face. 

“I deserved that.” He groaned.   
“Shut up! No..No this isn’t right. You died. I grieved for you. I..I almost died for you. No..” Sammy was shouting now. Skye, having been woken by the noise toddled through into the living room and hugged Sammy’s leg. Michael gasped and looked at the young child.  
“I’m sorry Sammy..I shouldn’t have come back but I needed to know you’re okay.”  
“Well..I am. I’m fine.” Sammy picked up Skye and nodded towards the door. “I’ve moved on. You need to aswell.”

Michael nodded in understanding and stepped towards the door. “Can we be friends?”  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re a ghost of the person I once knew..I’m sorry.”

“I..I understand.” Michael opened the door, only to be greeted by Dean. Dean shuffled past him and too Sammy.  
“Is everything okay?”  
“Yeah. He’s just leaving.” Sammy said, looking at Michael. “Thank you for letting me know..I hope you’re happy with it.” 

Michael nodded sadly and walked out the door, disappearing out of sight within a few minutes. 

“Who was that guy?”  
“He was a potential customer for the shop. Turns out he didn’t want to take our services in the end as he’s going away.” Sammy shrugged, closing the door. Dean smiled and kissed her forehead before taking Skye from her.   
“Fair enough. I’ll put our little princess to bed.” He smiled. 

When Dean disappeared into Skye’s room, Sammy sighed and leaned against the door when her phone lightly buzzed in her pocket. After retrieving it, she looked at the new message. 

“I’m sorry. M. x.”

She sighed, tapping out a quick reply. 

“I forgive you. Stay safe..maybe I’ll see you around..”


End file.
